Book One: Justice
by Anbraxis
Summary: Rewrite of Justice, Freedom, and Hope. WWII the war that nearly burned the world to the ground. The year is 1944, and a convoy carrying vital supplies goes on a little detour not to fight the germans, but the empire. What will win? Magic? Or Technology?


**When I said that I would upload on new years, I forgot that OU was playing ^_^; I hope you'll forgive me for a little delay on chapter 1. But here's the introduction for you. Short, but trust me the chapters will be far longer than this. **

_I do not under any circumstances own Eragon, this fanfiction is published on a nonprofit basis. _**  
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_Among the ebb and flow of time_

_From the stormy darkened seas_

_Despite magic's pleas_

_The great army will rise_

_Marching cloaked in their lies_

Introduction

When he had signed up for the marines, he hadn't expected this. He had expected to be fighting japs in the Philippines or some island in the pacific. Participate in one of those great battles he had seen in the newsreels in the theaters. When he made it through boot camp, with an extra stripe to boot, he was filled with pride about what he was a part of, the great army of soldiers that would fight to take revenge against what the Japanese had done to them. Not to mention, Lance Corpral Anderson had a nice ring to it.

All that pride had gone overboard, along with most of his lunch into the icy waters below.. Instead of the pacific, he had been assigned to the battleship South Dakota. The ship was in currently stationed in the Atlantic, in the middle of storm season for christsakes! And the Atlantic storm season lived up to its reputation. The ship was tossed to and fro the sea like a toy boat in a tub. He was just glad that he didn't end up assigned to a smaller ship, such as those destroyers that bobbed alongside the battleship. They crashed underneath the waves, struggling to rise above the choppy seas. However, that didn't make his situation any better. He was clutching onto the steel railing, unable to find his way back, and soaked to the bone. He braced for another shower of water when a faint voice could be heard. It got louder, and louder still.

"Hey Vic! VIC!" A voice yelled through the gale force winds and pelting rain. He pushed himself off of the railing that he had just before been clinging to so tightly, trying to squint through the storm to find who was calling for him and not get blown off his feet by the great gusts. A hand came from the ominous darkness that seemed to grow by the minute, startling him greatly. The voice shouted over the howling wind, "VICTOR! WE GOTTA GET INSIDE? HEAR ME?"

Victor had been unknowingly disoriented by the rapidly deteriorating conditions, and he nodded dumbly to the voice that left no room for disobedience. He was pulled along hunch backed against the wind to a hardly visible steel bulkhead. The man was clearly exerting himself to try and pull open a stubborn steel door. Victor blinked and hurried to help as best he could.

His hands kept slipping over the steel, the rain making it slick and slippery. Several minutes of trying to keep balance when their footing kept lurching with the waves and open the door was an ordeal. Finally they pulled it open. The two harried servicemen climbed into the door, slamming it. The duo leaned back on the pipes that lined the dimly lit hall, panting of the air that they had been so deprived of. When Victor turned to the man besides him, who had undoubtably saved his life. It was his sergeant. Staff Sergeant Kirby was his direct superior, also known as the man who owned his ass. He braced himself, he was in for an earful.

"So Lance Corporal Anderson," The stoic faced sergeant asked, "_what_ in God's good name did you not understand about _not_ going outside during a storm? Were you sleeping when I said that? Did you think that old man Kirby was trying to pull one over you?" The staff sergeant jammed his finger into his chest barking, "When a superior officer gives you a _ direct _order you follow it to the letter do you understand me?" Victor, who had come to attention, stiff backed replied, "Yes sir!"

The sergeant grimaced and said in a lighter, but still harsh tone, "Now get back to your quarters and get into some dry clothes. I don't need you getting pneumonia on top of all this Corporal. Dismissed." The sergeant himself turned his back to him and walked off to supposedly, back to his quarters to change, but not before shooing off a couple sailors who had stuck their heads out to watch the commotion with a glare.

As Victor dripped water onto the steel floor from his drab olive uniform, he was startled at the sudden reduction of noise. The wind and rain now seemed so far away, a distant worry rather than something that threatened to take his life. He heaved a sigh and just when he was about to leave what was now a puddle underneath his boots, the ship gave a massive lurch, throwing him against the opposite wall.

He felt his breath being knocked out of his lungs forcefully, as he struggled to raise himself from the floor that he found himself on. This was not to be, as the ship suddenly shook as if picked up from the water itself and shaken violently. He crashed into walls and pipes, not knowing where up and down was any longer. He could distantly hear some yells of pain and cries of surprise, but soon, all Victor could hear was a ringing in his ears.

His ears screamed on top of the ringing they registered a ungodly screech. He saw a pipe quickly coming towards his head and before he knew it, all he saw was darkness.


End file.
